


Four Times Sansa Performed for Jon

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Poetry, F/M, Musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: Plus the one time he performed for her





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_Hole_of_Procrastination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/gifts).



1.  
Sansa was twelve the first time she had her first true role on stage. It certainly wasn’t much, but it was more than a made up character. She had one big scene where she was rolled out in a giant birdcage and she was to sing a little song, and play on her harp. Still her parents attended every show, bringing one or two of her siblings along.

Her dad recorded each show, and her mom insisted upon getting a celebratory ice cream on the way home (later Sansa would understand it was as much for celebration as it was a bribe for the sibling in attendance). She relished the attention, and when curtain call arrived she liked to imagine a good deal of the applause she received was for her performance, as much as her age.

On the last Saturday night, when the cast lined up to meet the audience Sansa was surprised to see Rhaegar Targaryen walking with her parents. She shook out her hands, the poor feathered dress she wore wouldn’t do much in the way of absorbing the moisture. At Rhaegar’s side was his son, though Sansa knew him better as Robb’s friend Jon. It was Rhaegar who took her clammy hand and praised her skill at the harp, _and what a lovely voice as well_.

Jon stood at his father’s side looking ever the opposite, hands gripping a bouquet of daffodils. Soon her parents joined in the conversation, and after making an offer for Sansa to continue her training on the harp at the music school he sponsored the adults delved into their own conversations. 

Jon stared at his shuffling feet, and Sansa found her own eyes staring at the ground. Were it anyone else Sansa would have started to talk until she ran out of breath, but when it came to Jon, well he was so quiet that she worried the chatter would annoy him. She focused on the flowers, they were very pretty, like the buttercups she wove into flower crowns.

The adults shook hands, and Rhaegar put his hand on Jon’s shoulder to lead him away, “these are for you.” Jon said to the floor, though she knew he was talking to her. He extended the flowers and she accepted them with surprise.

“Thank you Jon.”

That night she insisted on going through the drive-thru to get their ice cream, she wasn’t going to turn it down entirely. Her dad looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Is everything alright Sansa?”

“I just want to put these in water!”

 

2.

At fifteen Sansa prepared for her first solo performance on the concert harp. She sat on the empty stage, in the vast, empty auditorium, fingers twisting anxiously and on their own accord. Just the day before her mother had taken her to the fabric store to buy delicate lace, and pretty silks to drape over the chair for the performance. Rhaegar told her that all of the soloists were given creative freedom over the stage, and she didn’t to underwhelm him, or the audience.

She took the harp and propped it against her shoulder, settling her feet into a proper position. Her fingers tested a quick, practiced glissando. The chords filled the empty hall, and with a deep breath she began to pluck away at the music before her. If she just focused on the music she could forget everything else. She could forget about the pain in her wrists, and her nerves, maybe if she tried hard enough it would be like she was playing for herself.

The auditorium doors shut with a heavy clang, startling her. “Hello?” she called out, trying to see who had come in.

“It’s just me, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She couldn’t see him yet, but Jon’s voice was familiar enough to set her at ease. “I didn’t realize you were practicing.”

“Yeah, just wanted to get the feel for it.” Sansa agreed, easing the harp off her shoulder. 

“Don’t let me bother you or anything, I’m doing the lights this weekend,” he took the steps up and walked around the stage with his head tipped back. Tentatively she eased the harp back and began to strum again. She toed at the pedal just as she was taught, and when she hit the last of the notes she kept her eyes closed, lest Jon see her start to cry.

“Sounds nice,”

“What?” Her voice cracked, she cringed as he walked over and crouched on the stage floor. 

“Is everything ok?”

“Obviously not,” she spat back, watching him recoil, and apologized quickly after. “What am I doing?” He settled on the floor, quietly listening to her sobs. “Joffrey’s right, it’s not like there’s any point for me to learn this. It’s all a waste of time.”

“You love to play, isn’t that why you do it?”

“But it’s not like I’m even that good at it.” Jon scoffed, “it’s true,” she insisted.

“Joffrey told you that?” She nodded, “well he’s never even heard you play, so who’s he to judge?” Sansa sniffed. “I think you sound great, if that means anything.”

“You do?” she wiped at her eyes with her sleeves.

“Yeah, and if it makes you less nervous I’m going to be up in that booth,” he gestured to the light box, “all you have to do is look my way and I’ll give you a sign that I’m there.”

She extended her pinky toward him, and he linked it with his own. Sansa threw her arms around him still weepy and shaky, murmuring her thanks into his shoulder.

3.

At twenty Sansa was cast as Lisel in the community production of the Sound of Music. Opening night the dressing area was as chaotic as the theater. Her mirror had concept makeup taped to it, that she was responsible for between scenes, and the vanity had just enough room for her steaming cup of water and lemon to sit among the scattered makeup brushes. She had her station situated so everything would sit just right.

The yellow flowers were unexpected, especially considering she had no idea who sent them. She always loved yellow flowers, but daffodils were a particular favorite, that most people knew of. Sansa cupped one and leaned to smell it, waiting until the stage manager walked by to inquire about them.

“I think your sister brought them in earlier today,”

Before she settled in to start on her makeup Sansa sent a quick text to the family thanking them for such a pretty bouquet. When she set the powder she pressed the home button and saw the phone alight with responses.

Robb: What?

Bran: ??

Rickon: You’re welcome :)

Mom: Those weren’t from us, maybe you have a secret admirer ;) Break a leg sweetheart, we’ll see you after the show!

Dad: Not us, we have some for after.

Arya: Not from us, I just ran them in.

She pouted at that, but couldn’t think too much on it, there was so much she had left to do. Harry wandered in moving to press a kiss to her cheek, “I just finished my base, I can’t start over,” she protested turning back to her mirror. He would kiss her on stage later, but it was a bad idea to let him think she wanted that sort of attention behind the scenes.

The curtain rose she could hear the applause as Tyene started to sing. She peered out from a spot back stage and saw a row crowded with redheads, Bran spotted her and waved. She blew him a kiss and let Mya the stage manager wrangle her to the wings, ready for the introduction of the Von Trapp family. 

After her duet with Harry she knew the loudest of applauses came from the row of redheads, Robb’s whoop, and Rickon’s wolf-whistle hit her ears and she couldn’t help but look their way and smile at them all. It wasn’t until that moment that she noticed Jon among them.

During intermission Arya snuck backstage and found Sansa. Her heart was still racing when Arya grabbed her arm. “Do you really not know who those flowers are from?”

“If they aren’t from you guys no.” Arya huffed in response, looking at Sansa in disbelief.

“They’re from Jon you ninny!”

“Oh,” she narrowed her eyes at her sister, “why?”

“Honestly Sansa, for a girl who’s in love with love you’re pretty oblivious.”

4\. 

Sansa looked across the reception hall to catch Jon’s eye, she’d slipped off her shoes so Rickon could spin her around. He tugged her arms back and forth, leading her in a nutty little dance. It was out of character for him. Normally at any open bar event he was following Robb or Arya around begging for them to sneak him a drink.

At her parent’s anniversary party Rickon sought her out as soon as the music started. “You like dancing, that’s all” he shrugged bashfully when she peeled off her heels. He grew mortified when Sansa kissed Jon before leaving the table, “you’re not even leaving the room, gods!” Jon laughed, in that soft sort of way he did that put hearts in Sansa’s eyes, and thanked Rickon for offering to dance with Sansa, saving him the embarrassment of heading out on the floor with such a talented partner.

“Can I ask you something?” Sansa nodded at her brother, surprised that he was coming to her at all. “How do you know you’re in love?”

“You feel it in your heart,” Sansa replied, the question from her youngest brother came from left field. “It’s different for everyone.”

“You don’t know the first time you see them?” Rickon asked earnestly. Sansa smiled at that, Jon always insisted he knew the first time he saw her.

“Not always, I think it’s hard to say you love a person until you know what’s in their head. Until you spend time with them to realize that you couldn’t imagine spending a day without them.”

“When did you know you loved Jon?” After the show she pulled him back to the stage where they sat in the prop gazebo she’d romanticized her whole life talking about everything from the weather, to school, to the future. As the night went on she leaned against him, and it wasn’t until the custodian opened the door that they even realized it was drawing on midnight. Jon drove her home, but they sat in his car and talked, and kissed until the battery in his car died. 

“It took me a while, but Jon has always been there for me, as support, as a friend. If I told him I didn’t return his feelings he would still be my friend. There’s so much value in that.” She thought of her first solo concert, looking up at the sound box and a second later a light to her left clicked off, before coming back on. Rickon scrunched his nose her dreamy expression. “You’ll know when you’re in love, I promise you that. It just may not jump out and punch you in the face like you’re expecting.” 

“Thanks Sansa, I’m gonna go ask Shireen to dance now,” and abruptly as he arrived Rickon left her to walk back to the table where Jon was waiting.

 

+1.  
Sansa sat curled into the couch in their dimly lit apartment sipping a glass of wine and watching TV while Jon sat scribbling in his notebook. She loved nights like this, when they were both home, with Ghost and Lady curled up on their beds. They’d gone for a long walk on the first warm day of spring, holding hands and window shopping down the city streets. 

Some nights when they got home they would eat and talk until they had to consider when they were leaving for work in the morning. Other nights Sansa took a seat at the little piano in their dining room and played, sometimes Jon sat on the bench with her, other times he opened his notebook and wrote. Sansa had never read his poetry, though he insisted it was terrible.

“Will I ever hear what you’ve written?” She asked from her spot on the couch.

“Sansa it’s not good, you don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s something you’ve made, of course I want to hear it.” She laughed, he sighed. “You’ve always supported me.” Maybe it was the wine he’d been drinking, or maybe it was how perfect the day had been, whatever it was Jon agreed.

“Only to prove a point, and only the very old stuff.” When he ducked into their bedroom to find one of his older notebooks Sansa rearranged their living room, finding a bright flashlight she could use as a spotlight. She topped off her glass of wine before Jon emerged. “You can’t laugh, I’m warning you it’s bad. Like what you’re thinking, only worse.”

“On with the show,” she insisted clicking off the table lamp and switching on the flashlight. He squinted against the bright light before turning his eyes down to look at the paper.

“Your hair is red,  
Your eyes are blue,  
It would be nice  
If you let me kiss you.”

“It doesn’t say that!” Sansa giggled in her spot, the light bobbing with her.

“It does, I warned you they’re all like that,” Jon replied hotly. 

“Bring it here,” Sansa insisted, tugging him down to sit right beside her. “How old were you when you wrote these?”

“I told you Stark I knew the first time I saw you, there’s years of awful poetry to be read.”

“You don’t have to read anymore if you’re really embarrassed.” She said, leaning against him. “I just hope you know I’ll always be your biggest fan.” She took his hand in hers, “you know that right?”

“It works both ways Sansa,” Jon picked up their clasped hands and kissed hers. “Though I might prefer it when you’re on stage. It’s hard up there.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for blackholeofprocrastination's birthday on [tumblr](https://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com) which is where you can find me


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